The Villainess Returns with a System
Chapter 150: Bait and Switch

Chapter 150: Bait and Switch

"This is final; you are going home with me, Beatrix."

The Count declared as he tightly grasped the arm of his chair, but before he could do anything, Vivian knew how to stop him from bossing everyone around.

"Lord Provost, if my memory serves me right, you owe me a big favour," she said very soundly, resting her back against her chair and squaring her shoulders with a big smile on her face.

"I am sorry, what?" Count Morgan, who was already leaning forward to stand, stared at her, brows furrowed, then a smirk twisted his lips as if he had tasted something sour.

"The Finals, my Lord,"

Vivian prompted him to remember, tilting her head in hopes of jogging his memory, but he seemed taken aback and unaware of what she meant, which made her go into details:

"Among most of the people out there, the faculty of the Royal Academy was desperately trying to make Prince Liam look good in front of all his subjects, which is admirable in my opinion. I remember that you took it to the point where you denied his protests to redo the traditional quiz debate between him and me, hoping that his first-place status would remain untouched."

As the echo of her words faded, the man’s frown eased, and he managed to return to his neutral poker face. He leaned back, the stuffing of the chair deflating softly under his weight, and a flicker of something unreadable—perhaps unease—darted across his eyes.

"That was not a favour, Vivian Moore. Your memory seems to betray you. All you did was withdraw," he said with a deep tone, making it clear that there were no favours between them.

"But it did save you some face and time. I cannot comment on the blunder that occurred later that night, but at least the gazette reported on how glorious our crown prince was during graduation, as he secured first place with a historical record at that time. Imagine if it were little old me on that front page. While I, Vivian Keone Moore, am a great beauty and my face would bless any front page, I am not as important as a scandal that could have made the pamphleteers go insane, only for the crown prince’s score to be the only thing in the world to cover it up," Vivian said with a wide smile, clasping her hands, and doing nothing but impose her own self-righteousness.

Anyone would think it ridiculous, and the Lord of the Morgans was not even keen on wasting his time with a girl his daughter’s age, but as a gentleman, he had to show Vivian the error of her ways:

"So, you are saying that I owe you for that?"

But before he got the chance to do so, Vivian was already on the offensive:

"Glad we see eye to eye. Now..." She paused a little, looking at him with her cunning eyes, then spoke, "I am going to cash in that favour, my Lord."

"This is ridiculous!" He said and tried to deflect what she was shoving at his face, "The sole reason I am listening to this is due to my respect for your father. If you keep wasting my time..."

"What about respecting your daughter’s wishes, my lord?"

Vivian did not like her initiative getting taken away from her, so she pushed up with an even more ridiculous demand.

"Her wishes?" The Count seemed taken aback by what Vivian said, as if it were the most unthinkable thing in the world. Still, he then turned between Beatrix and Vivian before making a firm face as he said, "From where I stand, my daughter’s wishes are compromised by the influence of people like you."

"Like me?" Vivian raised her brows and could not conceal her feeling of being offended with nothing other than a smile, "You mean a magicless pariah?"

"Oh, do not take what I tell your father to heart. No, not a magicless pariah," Count Albert seemed rather calm as he prepared to fire back his next words, "I am talking about you and the people you mix with. I know everything regarding your best friend, Isabella De Clare, her misdemeanours and poisonous attitude in the academy, and how it all reflected on you, being her lackey. I cannot believe Julian let his daughter mix with that kind of loose girl; no wonder His Highness could not tolerate your attitude and left you for another."

The words said by Count Albert Morgan were not easy to hear, and the man had a smile spreading all over his smug face. His sleek blonde hair made him look like a third-rate villain from a magic movie Nadia loved to binge through once every year, which made his smugness just a mild irritation for Vivian.

"I presume your lordship thought that by saying all that, you could bait me into acting rudely and rowdily in your presence." Vivian’s voice remained a still pond, betraying nothing of the irritation that must have churned beneath, "Do not worry, my lord. I can take a punch or two for my Ward."

That was true, as the bait he laid for her failed miserably. Lord Albert Morgan could see that the pointless conversation Vivian held with him was doing nothing, but as soon as he paused a little and thought for a minute, he could see where it all went wrong.

He was not the one doing the baiting; instead, he was just baited not once, not twice, but thrice.

He had been briefed on Vivian’s intel during his trip, which indicated that she is a very crafty individual who can manipulate and influence others, even those outside her rank. One of those who spoke of her cunning was the Royal Chamberlain himself, a personal friend of Count Morgan, who stated that even after her engagement was annulled, Vivian could still walk inside the Royal Palace, head held high, and advocate on behalf of Princess Charlotte.

Right now, Count Albert experienced that cunning. Vivian baited them that he owes her a favour, which in fact was some nonsense, but she played on his sense of pride and made him sit down. Then twice, she mentioned the bond between her and his daughter as Warden and Ward.

A Warden is a teacher of sorts, a caretaker, and a guardian of a minor. Since Vivian is a graduate, she is considered an adult, even though she is not 20 yet. Legally, she can be a Warden, but that is on paper, and a court of law would easily deny her claim.

But that was not the problem here. The problem was that he insulted her, her father, and even showed disregard for his daughter’s wishes, the only one who can totally tip the scales in this whole affair. How so? Well, even as a minor, Beatrix can tell who is on her side and more considerate about her between the two parties as she sits in the middle, and all Vivian said was "respect her wishes" and "take a punch or two for my ward," while her father showed no such regard for her.

In other words, Beatrix’s wardship of Vivian can be ruled in court as political asylum. With how things are now, it is not out of the realm of possibility for Vivian to flip Beatrix against her own family.

The man could see two ways out of this situation: either throwing his weight and making threats or taking a softer approach to mitigate the aftermath of this cunning trap Vivian had laid. He decided to go with the latter as he stood up to leave this magic-accursed place.

"I know the rumours circulating about my house and how we treat our daughters. We are not monsters, young lady Vivian; even if we deny our daughters the power of magic in their blood, this comes from a place of love, and I, a father, only allowed my daughter to learn her magic for her status in her future house."

Even though he stood up, Vivian remained seated with a calm smile that only indicated two words: "Too late!"

Looking at his daughter, Count Morgan saw Beatrix looking away from him.

"Won’t you at least see your father off?" He spoke to her, causing her to silently stand up and follow him to the front door of the Moores’ mansion.

His carriage waited for him outside, and as he stepped outside, he took one final glance at his daughter before shaking his head in disappointment.

As he reached his carriage, the count spoke to someone inside the place, saying words that even Vivian, who was waiting behind the door, heard:

"Fine, it is your turn."

As his words ended, the sound of someone jumping down from the carriage followed with two light steps, and Beatrix’s breath hitched.

He was the chief wretch among the wretched, the love she remained unable to relinquish, and the young man who instigated both her endurance and her pain: Ian Grayson.